


Dallas (The name, not the town)

by MakeAStriderSmile



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, and reddy for the things, brief cases of sexy times, ive forgotten how to tag got dan, just keep your eyes open, there's things, theres a lot of food, theres more things on the way eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 03:09:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5951599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MakeAStriderSmile/pseuds/MakeAStriderSmile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dallas 'D' Strider has had a pretty shitty post-film slump, and he goes out to try fill the void in his shitty heart. In comes Ambrose, the intriguing DJ. Shit went down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dallas (The name, not the town)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at 2am because my dumb laptop has no internet and am hijacking my sister's laptop to update this, so here, have some badly written Guardiancest :^)

Dallas ‘D’ Strider blinks blearily at the clock of his hotel room, the fourth in a string of equally dingy, dank rooms with peeling paper and molding shower curtains. It shows it’s 3 minutes past midnight. He had collapsed on this bed, with its broken springs, spotted bedspread and the faint scent of decay only two hours before.

It had been weeks now. Weeks since the shoot ended, since he had been given the order to go home and get some rest, spend time with the family.

It had been nearly a year since he’d last held his kid, Dirk squirming and giggling in his arms in the way toddlers do, nearly a year since he’d seen those wide tangerine eyes and that childish grin, so free of care and full of affection.

He wanted to work out all of his lingering tension, not come home the asshole director with a penchant for doing all the things he shouldn’t be. He wanted to come home as the loving dad that could devote all his time to his prodigy of a son and care for him the way he had wished he had been cared for as a child.

It had been two weeks since his last hit of coke, and he was glad of it. Maybe not glad of the shakes, the sweating, the burning _need_ , but glad to be dropping the habit. Dirk deserved better. His sister Rose deserved better. His little niece deserved better too. Roxy always looked at him with so much trust, he needed to be worthy of that and he couldn’t be, as a shambling addict. And that’s what he had been for the past 7 months. He knew it.

He sat up and laid his head in his hands, sweat slick blonde hair running between his fingers, dampening them just slightly. His determination sharpened into one thought.

I’m done. Tonight is all I need. Tomorrow, I’m going home.

And that toughened his resolve. He stood, and smiled. Just a little, but a smile all the same. A shower was taken, a slightly stained suit was switched for his favourite black shirt, tight in all the right places, loose in all the others, and some jeans and Chuck Taylors. No briefs, not tonight. Tonight was a night to work out the remainders of his tension, his anger, his guilt. Tonight was a night of forgetting, and by God, Dallas was going to forget.

\---

The club was crowded, even at midnight. The music pulsed like something living, breathing, just beneath the floor, bringing new life to the vibrant dancers on the illuminated dancefloor, their skin lit almost from within. Dallas wished he’d brought his shitty video camera, the one he had kept since he was 14 and making short films in a dingy apartment with his younger sister playing most of the parts.

He ordered a White Russian, waited calmly for someone to recognize him, hoped secretly that nobody would. He drank, he ordered another drink, a simple gin and tonic this time, and realized the music had changed a little, become a little less lively.

He looked up from his drink, and was surprised to find he was not alone at the bar anymore. A young man, maybe his age, maybe older, was sitting at the end of the bar, beer in his hand, eyes insistently resting on him. Maybe he had been recognized tonight.

When Dallas registered his gaze, the man just smirks, a smirk that speaks of dark, dangerous things, and it makes him realize that this is exactly who he’s looking for. Dark and dangerous.

He smirks back and beckons him a little closer, and he does indeed come closer, taking the seat right beside him, smelling of oranges and cinnamon and sweat, and something almost metallic. It was odd that he noticed the smell of him, considering how cloying and nearly claustrophobic the scent of the club was around him. The guy probably just had some really kickass cologne.

“You’re from Texas, aren’t you?” Is the first question the man asks, and Jesus, he is not expecting that. His eyes widen behind his shades, and he can tell that the other man tells because he watches the corners of his eyes, his strange deep orange eyes, crinkle as he grins. “You just have that look about ya. Looks like home, ya know? I’m from Texas too, figured we had to have somethin’ in common.”

He had never really gone in for that clichéd Southern drawl, always thought it was fake, though he knew damn well that he twanged when he was tired, or horny, or just really really excited. But honestly? This guy was pulling it off. With his honey blonde hair, tanned skin and golden-orange eyes, he reminded him of the cowboys in romance novels, ready to sweep a farm girl off her feet. He was a little amused by thinking of this man with a big, fancy cowboy hat, with a huge buckled belt, spurs on his boots and a roguish smile. Though the smile wasn’t that far off.

“Yeah, actually. I was born in Texas, work keeps me out of town most months now, though. How ‘bout yourself? What takes you outta home?”

“Work, same as you. Actually, I just got done workin’. I was playin’ a set here tonight, you musta heard it.” So this is the DJ, the one that brought the club alive. Honestly, it made sense, and the cowboy image faded, replaced with this man in front of turntables, thick headphones around his neck, eyes closed in concentration. It seems like it fits him.

“I got done working a bit ago, just taking a breather before I head back home.” He thinks of Dirk and smiles. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Oh, you got a girl at home you’re lookin’ to come back to?” The DJ’s voice is politely curious, but he can hear the question beneath it.

_Are you looking to go home with someone tonight?_

“No girl, just a big old house and a lot of time to kill.” The house is more a penthouse, a suite that he managed to secure when he started raking in the steady income to support it, to keep Rose and Roxy close, to simultaneously rope Rose into babysitting while he was away.

“Really? Well, sounds like you’ve got a real nice setup. Before we get too carried away talkin’, I feel I should introduce myself.” The DJ holds out a hand, large and calloused, and gives Dallas another of those dangerous smirks.

He takes it and goes to shake it, as he suspects is the goal, but instead, the man pulls him a little closer to lay a kiss on the back of his hand, peering up at him from beneath long, blonde lashes.

“You can call me Ambrose. It’s a real pleasure to meet you.” He sounds genuinely pleased, as if he’s lucked out, meeting a tired director in a club.

“Dallas, and it’s nice to meet you too, Ambrose. Dig the name, too. Sounds fancy as shit.” He can’t help but mention it, how antiquated the name sounds, like a baron in an old story. He imagines him again, all dressed up in finery, seducing some fine maiden in far too many layers of clothing. He can’t help but imagine and fantasize about this man. He is made for fantasies, this Ambrose.

“Yeah, I was thinkin’ about changin’ it, honestly. Sound like some prissy man in a powdered wig, and I could not rock frills.” He’s joking, obviously, easy smile on his face, another swig of his beer, and Dallas only just remembers he has a drink too, downing it in one go and returning Ambrose’s easy smile.

“I dunno, I think you could. I have the sneaking suspicion that you’d look absolutely gorgeous no matter what you wear- or don’t wear, even.” He leans in on that last part, raising his brows and letting his smile become playful, a little enticing even.

“You think so? Well, I don’t think you could rock frills. Honestly, the whole clothin’ situation for you isn’t workin’ out. Maybe you should get those off of you, and we’ll see what we can do.” His flirting is bold, and blunt, and Dallas chuckles.

“I think that could work. Maybe some of your clothes might suit me better. Or just your sheets.” It’s a subtle suggestion, though maybe not quite as subtle as he wants. He doesn’t quite want the guy to see where he’s staying, it’s not quite built for fucking, more for sleeping your life away.

“You’re right. I think we should test that. You pay for your drinks, Dallas, I think I’ll go grab my stuff and we can be on our way.” He smirks and leaves D, though not before bestowing upon him an insistent, heated kiss, one that spoke of just how good this guy was. He pays for the drink, smooths back his hair a little, and waits until he spots Ambrose, realizing very quickly that Ambrose is very fucking tall, probably 6’3 to D’s 5’6. He can tell this is going to be fun indeed.

Ambrose looks down at him with a bit of a surprised smile. “Well, would ya look at that, I bagged a shota. Come on, Pico, let’s go.” Dallas gets that joke and slaps Ambrose’s arm lightly on the way out, though he laughs as he does it. They take a cab to a reasonably nice hotel, and, surprisingly, Ambrose has the best suite in the hotel booked out. When Dallas questions it, he just shrugs and smiles enigmatically. “Can’t be givin’ away all my secrets now, can I, cutie?”

\---

His room is massive, and all in cool coral tones, his bed a pale orange that makes D instantly realize why the room was picked. Obviously the man with the orange eyes had a bit of a thing for matching colors.

Surprisingly, they don’t immediately start fucking. First, Ambrose offers him a glass of water, which he accepts, mostly to stave off whatever level of hangover he may wake with tomorrow. Secondly, they order room service (D orders the greasiest, most stereotypical fries he can get his hands on, Ambrose orders a pizza with every meat possible to fit on a pizza. They share, and enjoy every second of it.), and then they take showers, wanting to actually clean up (and clean out) before any kind of sex happens.

Dallas emerges afterward feeling refreshed like never before, hair dripping and dark blonde, small droplets still clinging stubbornly to his shoulders, and finds Ambrose in much the same position, reclined on the bed, his damp, dark blonde hair ruffled by the pillows, his tan body inviting and unobstructed by towels or pillows or anything of the like.

He can’t possibly refuse such an inviting scene, dropping his towel and crawling onto the bed, letting his considerably paler body rest atop Ambrose’s, tan and pale skin colliding and joining together in places.

Large, rough hands trace patterns and constellations into the dark freckles of D’s back. Lazy kisses and hot, insistent kisses are shared. Lube is located and applied accordingly, and in a move that seems totally uncharacteristic to the sweet talking man of earlier, Ambrose switches their positions and straddles Dallas’ hips, stroking him and murmuring soft encouragements as he gets himself ready, his eyes closed and a smile on his face.

D is almost glad that they’re in this position. He can see his partner in all his glory, and stroke his quite obviously pierced dick, playing absently with little bars and the ring that looks like it must have hurt a fuck ton. He asks about it and Ambrose just sort of shrugs and replies in a voice that is little more than a moan, “Totally worth not bein’ able to fuck for months. Maybe I’ll show you later.” He can live with that. He can totally live with that.

His own dick may not be pierced, but Ambrose looks happy enough to be rolling a vividly orange condom down it, before finally climbing atop it, a look of concentration on his face as he sits down fully, taking nearly a minute of torturous grinding and waiting to accustom himself, before he makes a few test thrusts, braces his hands on Dallas’ pale chest and really gets into the ride.

It’s now that that cowboy fantasy returns, this time with no jeans, no belt, no button up shirt, just a gorgeous man in a cowboy hat and boots, riding him and loving it.

He banishes the fantasy from his head for now to find that the real Ambrose is quite clearly enjoying it just as much as the cowboy Ambrose, maybe even more so, his insistent thrusts and long, low moans tipping him off. He figures he should actually join in, allowing fluid motions of his hips to match the other’s speed, his hands going from just playing with Ambrose’s dick/piercings to actually working to make the man atop him moan even louder.

He could tell it was working pretty well, the blonde looking down at him with glazed eyes and moaning louder than before as he quickened his pace, and he just then realized he hadn’t put his shades back on after exiting the shower. He was stunned to see how much brighter those eyes were without them. They were a glorious gold, like a sun just before it fully sets, dark and perfect and really, really hot.

Ambrose rides him insistently, and shamelessly, letting his moans ring out through the suite, Dallas’ moans soon joining them as the other man does things with his hand, and with his mouth, that he had never seen before, in all of his escapades with men, women and all variations thereupon.

After that, it’s another twenty minutes of rolling and grinding and moaning, encouragement and exclamations exchanged, their bodies slick with lingering water and sweat as they rocked harder against each other, the rhythm becoming looser now, more uncoordinated, with Dallas taking over for the last few thrusts, taking a hold of Ambrose and pulling him closer, as close as he can possibly manage, thrusting hard and exclaiming one last time, practically hollering Ambrose’s name to the ceiling as he shudders beneath him and goes still. With those final thrusts, D finally manages to hit the spots Ambrose couldn’t really reach on his own, making him cry out and arch and come all over the both of them, leaving them both a sweaty mess, covered in stripes of white. Dallas resists the urge to clean it off of Ambrose, knowing that he couldn’t be totally sure this guy was clean, though he knew he himself was.

Another shower is had, as soon as they can gain the energy to stand, this time together, more kisses exchanged and enjoyed, as well as a round of slightly sleepy frotting against each other, D pushing Ambrose into the corner and leaving marks down his chest, leaving his mark, not that the blond exactly minds, in fact he honestly gets harder and more insistent with every mark left, practically begging by the time Dallas feels he’s done.

Then they move back to the bed, pushing off all of the blankets but the thinnest one in favour of wrapping around each other and simply laying there beneath a thin blanket, talking until Ambrose falls asleep and Dallas joins him soon after.

\---

In a move that’s usually only seen in shitty books and stories, they wake within minutes of each other, though they migrated through the night, Dallas sprawled atop Ambrose’s form, lips pressed to his shoulder, though Ambrose had curled up and slept soundly, more soundly than he had in a long while.

“Well, you did look better in my sheets, didn’t ya, Pico?” Is what Ambrose murmurs, voice rough with sleep and amused at his clever joke.

Dallas bites his shoulder, just a small nip but enough to get his point across. “I am not a shota.”

“Ya are so. Now get offa me, shota, I gotta go and piss, and then we can have breakfast ordered in and maybe go another round before you have to go or somethin’.” D rolls off of him and hunts down his shirt, stealing a pair of grey silky boxers from Ambrose and going to roam the suite while Ambrose used the bathroom before he took his turn and then joined the other in the kitchen to order in waffles and pancakes and donuts and a ton of bacon. They slather their feast in syrup and cream, and eat the feast of the well sated.

“So, another round, or do you gotta go?” Ambrose inquires once they’re done, looking quite satisfied.

“Mm. Wait like ten minutes then another round, I wanna see what that piercing can do. And then we’re having a chat, and then I might have to go. Depends on when I book my flight for. I could just leave a little later than planned if you want to go more than one round today.”

“Course I wanna go more than one round, I ain’t stupid. Who knows when I’ll get the chance to fuck a movie star again.” So he had been recognized after all. That was really a shame. He had hoped it hadn’t just been for the movie thing.

“So, this is just for the novelty of fucking a movie star? I guess that’s fair.” He murmurs, though it’s obvious he doesn’t think so.

“Nah, not just for that, D, it’s mostly because you are absurdly hot, way out of my league and you’re agreein’ to stay longer. Who wouldn’t want a hottie like yourself in their bed as long as possible?”

“Someone looking for a one night stand, probably.”

“Well, I do specialize in those, and this can just be for last night and today if you want that. But I think I don’t want that. So. I think I should give you my number, and you give me yours, and I’ll call you when I’m back in Texas, and we can make some more suitable arrangements. Sound good?”

He’s honestly surprised to hear how rational this all sounds, and how much Ambrose actually sounds like he wants this for more than a night. Amazing.

“Sounds really good. Now, I think we’ve done all the talking we need to, and I want you to show me exactly how those piercings are gonna be fitting in my ass, because I am honestly amazed at the prospect.”

It turns out they can fit, and they can fit pretty damn well, enough to make Dallas, a normally quiet guy during sex, practically scream for more. In fact, he does scream at the end, enough to make Ambrose think he had dropped a ball in the piercing during sex and stabbed him or something. Luckily he had not.

Afterward, phone numbers are exchanged. Dallas mentions his kid, his sister and his niece. Ambrose hesitates for only a moment before mentioning his own kid, though no other family. He wonders absently how the boy, Dave apparently, is taken care of. He’s sure that someone manages him while Ambrose is out of the house, just like Rose does for him.

They go another round, this time slow, and drawn out, and really, really good. Dallas almost wishes it wouldn’t end, that the pleasure would just keep building for hours and hours until he exploded with it, but he didn’t have time. He was ready to go home, after that final, almost cathartic night.

He booked his plane home, spent a little longer with Ambrose, before delivering him a very long kiss goodbye and heading out to pack.

\---

He had almost forgotten the heat of Texas, honestly. It was an insistent, pervading warmth, though it was nothing compared to how warm and content Dallas ‘D’ Strider felt as he laid eyes on his little boy again, his pale, pale blonde hair grown so much longer, his body so much taller, his eyes just as bright and just as full of affection. He could obviously toddle about on his own, now, because he was running, bolting even, toward his father, practically screeching his name in delight before Dallas caught him, spun him round and held him close, kissing the crown of his hair, whispering in a soft voice about how much he had missed him and how happy he was to be home. He hugged Rose and Roxy too, pulled them all into a tight family hug and led them out of the apartment, led them to their home, the one he had been missing for nearly a year now.

It was only when the kids had worn themselves out and had been put to bed when Rose inquired, her dark painted lips turned up in an inquisitive smile, “So, what’s got you so relaxed? Last we spoke you were wound up like a precision-timed clock.”

Dallas paused, thought about how to answer, before simply smiling and shrugging before giving her a pretty basic summary of his night. “I… think I actually got a boyfriend last night. Or as close to one as I’m gonna have.” His phone chimes, and when he sees who it is, he lights up in a similar way to how he lit up when he saw Dirk again. “And there he is now. Just a sec.”

He answers the call. “Didn’t think I’d hear from you so soon, Ambrose. Thought you’d be in New York a while longer.”

“Nah, lost its appeal. Are the kids in bed? I wanna come over and see your fancy apartment.”

“Kids are in bed but my sister isn’t.”

“Even better, meetin’ the family. Text me the address, and I’ll be there. See you soon, Pico.”

With a curse, Dallas hangs up, texting his address to his new asshole boyfriend and huffing when Rose asks for an explanation. “Ambrose is coming over and he still insists on making fun of my height.”

“I feel that you should be telling me everything about this ‘Ambrose’ of yours before he gets here, brother of mine.”

“Please don’t analyse him, Rosie, don’t do this again.”

“I’m not doing anything, Dallas, I’m just being a concerned sister. Now spill the details.”

And of course, he does, and of course, when Ambrose gets there, he receives the psychoanalysis of a lifetime.

D makes up for it with fantastic sex.

That cycle is repeated pretty damn often, and though Ambrose could probably use less therapy and more time alone with his boyfriend, he still kind of enjoyed it.

Their courtship was not exactly long, nor was it one made for fantasies and sultry dreams, but it did kind of suit them, and Dallas was calmer and more centred than he had ever been before.

In a way, he was kind of glad that he had gone and slept in a line of dingy motels, hoping to find himself a reason to come home there, because eventually, he did. He found the best reason there would ever be to go home to his family.

He had someone new waiting for him at home, someone he cared about, someone he might even learn to love soon enough. Which was very good motivation.

 


End file.
